


The Boss' Polacca

by RiaRose



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Alternate Universe - Prohibition Era, First Time, Gangsters, Italian Mafia, Italian Tony Stark, M/M, Porn With Plot, Prohibition, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:40:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23272618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiaRose/pseuds/RiaRose
Summary: -The man who walked over wasn't at all what Tony was expecting. He was tall, broad, and gorgeous. Blond hair and blue eyes, built like a brick shithouse. If he agreed, he'd be perfect. Sammy Silver Feathers had said he'd find the perfect person to do the job. He was more right than he knew."What can I do ya for?" Tony smirked, eyeing him up and down appreciatively. No one but James and his four bodyguards--Brucie, Tasha, Clint, and a man with no name that everyone just called Thor--knew of his leanings, even though he never acted on them. There was too much at stake to risk a frolic with a man."I heard ya had a job. One that pays handsomely."OrSteve does a hit job only to garner money to help his mother, he didn't expect the boss to be so beautiful.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 75
Kudos: 313





	The Boss' Polacca

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly: there ARE mentions of murder and trafficking in this. Just mentions. Murder is committed by our boys, but the trafficking IS NOT. Nothing graphic.
> 
> Secondly, this is the first AU I've ever written in my over twenty years of fanfiction writing. I tend to prefer canon divergence. 
> 
> With that being said, it was mostly to get my feet wet.
> 
> Lan, and all the help I got from others on Discord in You are all so appreciated!

The smoke in the speakeasy was overwhelming. Swirls of it curled around the patrons, dancing in the dim lights and fluttering around the tea cups and coffee mugs filled with moonshine. Tony "Bright Eyes" Stark sat surrounded by his business associates, one leg up over the arm of the chair he was on, the other tapped on the floor along with the music blaring from the last minute band. He was waiting for someone, though it was anyone's guess who, and sucking on cigarette after cigarette, sipping on soda water, and ignoring the Candy Girls who giggled and flirted with him. He just wasn't interested. 

"'Ey, Bright Eyes, you gonna have some?" It was his right hand, James "Colonel" Rhodes, a handsome black man that Tony had to fight tooth and nail to get into the family business. Many of his _famiglia_ still didn't accept him. But no one went against Tony when the cards were down. 

As it was, Tony was a half-breed, a _mezza razza_ , only half Sicilian on his mother's side, but no one was as ruthless, as intelligent, and as cunning. He had slaughtered his way to the top of the Randazzo family, taking what he knew belonged to _him_ , and him alone. His poor Mamma, thrown from the famiglia simply for falling in love with a _Tedesco_. He had sworn he would attain what was rightfully his, and he did. Along with the crown of fear that came with it. It was satisfying. 

"No, Jimmy," he said, using his hand to bat away the offered drink. "You never dip into your own supply."

James shrugged and drank from his own mug. "He ain't coming, Tones."

"If he knows what's good for him, he will." There was a shout behind them, and a boozehound toppled into Tony's chair, his tea cup spilling over and landing on Tony's spats. 

" _Vaffanculo_!" He heard one of his underlines yell out, but Tony wasn't bothered. A drunk was of no concern to him. He sat up and dabbed at the white fabric. 

"Relax, Clint." He looked up. "It all comes out in the wash, don't it?"

They laughed, James toasting Tony with his teacup, "That they did, Tonio, that they did!" He was referring to the last batch of naysayers, just the week before, who had tried to usurp the half-Sicilian. Tony had taken care of it. Had them gutted from navel to nose and hung from the lines outside the precinct. A warning, he had said, to the rest.

A dame with some of the nicest stems he had ever seen wandered into view, and he looked up at her from his bent position, a flirtatious smile playing on his lips. "Antonio, there's a man at the front. Says he knows ya."

Tony threw the napkin on the tray of the nearest Candy Girl, "Does he now?"

"Yeah, some blond _polacca_ , I think."

Tony gave James a triumphant look. "Whatever, man," Rhodes said, lighting a cigarette for some other dame. No one could say he wasn't a gentleman. "If he'll do it, then it's just fine. If not, I'll take care of it."

Tony knew what he meant when he said he'd take care of something. It usually involved the Hudson.

"Send him over, doll face." She nodded and walked away. 

"We need this taken care of. And I don't want my fucking hands dirty. _Capice_?" Tony said, lifting his foot, soiled spats and all, over the arm of the chair again. He was a king. He did what he wanted. 

The man who walked over wasn't at all what Tony was expecting. He was tall, broad, and gorgeous. Blond hair and blue eyes, built like a brick shithouse. If he agreed, he'd be perfect. Sammy Silver Feathers had said he'd find the perfect person to do the job. He was more right than he knew. 

"What can I do ya for?" Tony smirked, eyeing him up and down appreciatively. No one but James and his four bodyguards--Brucie, Tasha, Clint, and a man with no name that everyone just called Thor--knew of his leanings, even though he never acted on them. There was too much at stake to risk a frolic with a man. 

"I heard ya had a job. One that pays handsomely."

Tony's smile widened. "Step into my office," he stood with a flourish. The man nodded, his nerves undercutting the carefree vibe he was attempting to send. Not a copper, then. Just an _asino_ , looking for a quick buck. 

He followed Tony through the thick cloud, passed the bandstand, and the barrels, through a dirty curtain, and behind a heavy door. A small space where Tony conducted his business when in this particular bar. The bodyguards stood a silent vigil outside the door.

"Take a load off," Tony gestured, seating himself on an old but comfortable looking lounger. He swung his legs up and leaned back, looking for all the world like a cat lazing in the sun. 

The man sat on the rusted barstool adjacent to the lounger. "Name’s Steve. Just Steve. You don't need to know anymore than that."

"And I don't care to, you fucking _stunad_. Ya here to do a job for me, not be inducted into the business."

Steve just shrugged. "What do you need?"

"Paulie Two Fingers. Ya know him?"

"I've heard the name." Steve's hands, his beautiful hands with the long fingers that Tony found himself wanting to take into his mouth, were twisting at the bottom of his shirt.

"You never whacked a guy before, have ya?" He asked, a hint of mischievousness in his voice.

"Look, I just need the money. Tell me what I gotta do."

Tony shrugged nonchalantly. "I need him dead. And I need proof. I don't care how, but it needs to be done before Sunday. I got a dinner I have to attend."

"Why not you?" Steve inquired, leaning forwards. 

"I can't get close enough. Or any of my men."

"What about that dame you got? The Widow?"

Tony laughed outright at Tasha being referred to as a dame. She'd skin him alive if she ever heard him call her that. "Everyone knows Tasha is loyal to me. No, I need someone not on the payroll, officially that is. You are not _Siciliano_ , they won't suspect."

"Neither are half the people you employ. And from what I hear, you as well." 

Steve was on his back on the floor in an instant, a knife pressed against his throat. "If you know what's good for you, _polacca_ , ya won't be saying those sorts of things."

With a nervous twitch, Steve swallowed. "Understood."

Tony let him up, returning to his position on the lounger like nothing had happened at all. "Are you in or out, _polacca_?"

"Stop calling me that! I'm not Polish."

"It's all the same to me."

Steve was silent, contemplating what he was asked to do, weighing the morality of it, but also the man in front of him. He was gorgeous. Half-breed or not, Tony looked Italian, or Sicilian, he really didn't understand the difference. He had dark eyes framed by long lashes, a shorter but strong build, and lips he could pray to. 

But he was a murderer. A gangster. Everyone knew what he had done to earn his place as the Don of the family, even if no one could prove it. But it still didn't stop Steve's cock from twitching when he looked at him, splayed out on that lounger, like he was without a care in the world. 

"How much?"

Tony chuckled, "How much you want, _polacca_." He was saying it now just to get under Steve's skin. 

Steve bristled, but let it go. "$750."

With a whistle, Tony sat up. "That's a steep price for a first timer."

"I need it."

And Tony knew he did. No man with such an innocence about him agreed to murder without having a good reason. "Tell me why."

"Fuck you."

Tony shrugged. "Then get the fuck out. You expect me to give you that much, and you don't tell me why?" His lips turned up into a sneer. "Get the fuck outta here. The fuck do I look like?"

Steve was cornered, his eyes going wide. He had a choice: leave and lose his one shot at the money he needed, or telling the truth and saving the most important person in the world to him. Decision made, he spoke. "My mother. She's sick. Consumption. Doctor says she needs the dry air, and we gotta move to Arizona. Need the expenses to buy a place. Need to take care of her."

Mothers. It had to be about mothers. He thought of his own, long dead, forced into prostitution when he was born and killed by her own john. What he wouldn't give to have been able to save her. His good-for-nothing father still somewhere out there, living his life like Maria Randazzo never existed. It made him sick with anger.

"Deal. But you deliver by Saturday. Or I'll skin you alive. _Capice, polacca?"_

" _Capice_."

\---

It was done by Thursday. Steve wasn't happy about it, but for his mother, he would do anything. The only consolation was that Paulie Two Fingers was an awful human being. There were rumors he was involved in the kidnapping and selling of poverty stricken children all over New York state, and the little girl he sent running from the building after he had killed the man only confirmed that. 

He shot him with a Smith and Wesson Model 19, a gun supplied to him by a shady mobster under Tony's payroll. The proof? His whole left hand, or what was left of it after a molotov cocktail exploded ten years prior, nearly killing him and leaving him disfigured. Steve thought it more apt to have called him Paulie Half Face, but that was neither here nor there.

He placed the hand in a tin and stuck it in the ice box, expressly telling his mother not to look inside, and went off on a two day bender, trying to erase the image of Paulie's body jerking with the shots, his last gurgle of breath, the blood that poured from him, and the little Irish girl he hadn't noticed huddled in the corner. 

Tony Stark was many things, but at least he never hurt children. 

On Saturday morning, his mother beckoned him to her side.

"What did ya do, Stevie?"

"Ma?"

"I know you did something awful." She coughed, her body convulsing, the fluid sounding sickly in her lungs.

He took her hand, using his other to wipe the drop of blood from the corner of her mouth. "You don't gotta worry no more, Ma. We're going to Arizona."

"We ain't got the money, Stevie." She coughed again. It was getting worse.

He kissed her forehead. "We will. I got it taken care of. Just start thinking of what ya gonna wear when we get there and you feel better and can go out dancing again."

She shook her head, "Stevie, don't go getting mixed up with the wrong crowd. My life ain't worth it."

"I'm not, Ma, I promise. But I'm getting the money tonight. We can leave as soon as I get the train tickets. First class, Ma, how's that sound?"

Another deep and phlegmy cough. "Ain't never had nothing like first class before."

"I know, Ma. I'm gonna take care of you."

"You go to church on Sunday, you listening? You tell that priest. I don't know what you did, Stevie, but I know it ain't good. You save your soul, boy." It was too many words at once, and her next bout of coughing exhausted her. When he finally laid her back in the bed after gently thumping her between her shoulder blades, she fell asleep almost right away.

"You don't wanna know what I did, Ma," he murmured softly to her sleeping form, "but I'd do it again if it meant saving you."

That night, he donned on his best clothes, took the tin from the ice box, and headed back to the speakeasy. 

The knock changed nightly, so he had to listen for one of the other patrons to do it before he could approach the door. When the aluminum sign swung forwards, it was the same woman he had met the first night.

"Password?"

"Nightingale Locksley."

The sign clanged back into position and the door opened, the dull thud of music drifted out. She led him down a hallway, and behind a false door, which when opened, allowed the stream of conversation, smoke, and music to blast free. "I'll tell Tonio. Wait here." She was back quicker than she was the other night, beckoning him with a nod of her head. 

Tony was in the same spot, the same chair, only this time, he sat forward, eagerly watching Steve as he weaved through the crowd, an expression on his face that sent a bolt through Steve's body. He wore a three-piece; dark blue and tailored to fit his frame. Steve's breath caught momentarily while looking at him. The man was beautiful. His eyes, dark brown and filled with things Steve couldn't even begin to understand, somehow still stood out like stars in the dim lighting of the club. Bright Eyes indeed. 

It took a second to get his body back under control. He had never felt this way before just by looking at someone. Steve wasn't an idiot, though. He knew relations between men were sinful and more than frowned upon. But that didn't stop him from appreciating the gorgeous man before him. 

But there was still business to attend to. He had his mother to think about. 

Wordlessly, Steve handed him the tin. Tony opened it, delight blooming on his face, and handed it to James, who laughed loudly. 

"Well then," James was saying, "he actually did it."

"Enjoy hell," Tasha chuckled, leaning over the back of James' chair to have her own look.

Tony stood. "Come to the back, I'll get you your money."

As Steve followed him, the tin was being passed around, bursts of laughter trailing behind him. Thor opened the door for them, and Steve kept his distance. The man towered over Steve, and that was no small feat, and his signature hammer--a gleaming tool used to build in an honest man's hands--swung from his belt. 

This time, Tony didn't drape himself out on the lounger. Instead, he walked to a safe and bent down to open it. 

"How'd you do it?"

"I used the gun."

Tony nodded. "Good choice. That's more than he deserved."

"Is it?" Steve countered, his voice hard. Tony's movements froze, he turned, standing up, and somehow looking imposing despite being a hair under 5'8. 

"Ya really think the world is gonna miss someone like Paulie Two Fingers?" He remarked, his voice low and dangerous. He invaded Steve's personal space, and something crackled between them. "Ask me why I had that bastard put to pasture." Tony smelled like cigarettes and hair oil, baby powder used after his baths, and something sweet. Candy, maybe, sugary and tantalizing. It made Steve's cock twitch. 

His breath was tight when he answered. "Why?"

"He took a little girl from my old neighborhood in Queens, snatched her right up, and sold her to some perv down in Washington. By the time we tracked her down to bring her home, the man she was sold to had raped her to death."

Steve's face paled. "There was a child there. A little Irish girl, fresh off the boat I think. I told her to run, to go home."

"So ya understand. He was despicable. Now I done a lot to get where I is, and that's between me and the Lord, but I ain't _never_ hurt an innocent. You can think the fuck ya want, but know this: Tony Stark don't hurt no kids." Tony turned back to the safe. "Get ya money and get the fuck out."

"I spent two days drinking it away." Steve didn't know why he continued talking. "But I felt some satisfaction watching the light go out. I knew what he was. But I ain't never killed before."

Tony slowed in counting the money. The safe was filled with stacks of it, more money than Steve had ever seen before. 

"Taking out a piece of garbage like Paulie, or any of those rats that disgraced my mother," he turned back to Steve. "It feels good, don't it? Like ya taking the trash out."

"Spoken like a true mob boss."

"Go ahead and hate me," Tony sneered, "but I'm exactly what everyone else wishes they could be but don't got the guts to do."

"You kill for fun."

"I kill to even the fucking score!" Tony was in his space again, hand fisted with money, pointer finger in Steve's chest. "My ma did nothing but fall in love with the wrong guy. They beat her senseless and tossed her out. We lived in the goddamn _tenements_ 'til she was murdered. I took those bastards out. Me. You killed for ya own mother. What's the fucking difference?"

What was the difference? Steve wasn't so sure anymore. 

"Not _one_ of those _stunads_ was worth the bullets I put in them."

"You have a piece of every business in this neighborhood! You made them fear you!"

"Shows what you know, you fucking _polacca_ . I gots loyalty. They don't fear me; they respect me. All I ask is for places to conduct business in exchange for protecting them, I don't take their fucking money. All this," he gestured to the safe, "is because of the booze. I'm a fucking business man. I'm goddamn intelligent. Smarter than all you fuckers, I changed the game. I figured out how to make it better, how to store it better, how to transport it better. Other _famiglias_ ? They pay _me_ to make their own business better. How the fuck you think a damn _mezza razza_ like me got to the top? Yeah, I took out the rat bastards that tried to stop me, that tried to kill me, but my brains," the finger left Steve's chest and he tapped his own head, "that's what really got me here." He finished counting, and shoved the money at Steve. "I own this whole city, but I don't collect on it. You don't shit where ya eat."

Steve fumbled, catching the bills as they slid from his chest. "You ain't never killed an innocent?"

"Never, and I won't ever. I'm no saint, _polacca_ , but I ain't the devil neither."

Steve was conflicted. If what Tony was saying was true, they really weren't all that different. He had taken a hit job to try and save his Ma, and Tony had taken over the _Mafioso_ to avenge his own.

And Paulie Two Fingers? He had been whacked simply because he went after children. 

Still though, taking a life didn't sit right in Steve's chest, evil bastard or not. He needed to get out of there. Not only to remove himself from what he did, but because it was getting harder to ignore the urges of his lust. 

And he was loathe to admit a begrudging respect beginning to boil up inside him for the half-Sicilian. 

"Where's ya mother buried?" He thought Tony wouldn't answer, he had no right to ask anyway. 

"Pauper's grave. In the Bronx. I couldn't afford it at the time to bury her right. Now I don't know where she's at on that island up there, nothing I can fucking do." He paused, looking at Steve with a deep wisdom. "When ya ma goes, don't spare any expense, you listening?"

"I won't."

"Biggest regret of my whole damn life." He swallowed and went back to the safe, pulling out three more crisp one hundred dollar bills. "Do what I couldn't." And handed them to Steve. 

Something sparked between them, and Steve cracked. He dropped the wad of cash on the table by the door and grabbed Tony, pushing him against the wall and kissing him hard. 

For a moment, Tony was stunned, and Steve was sure he had judged the situation wrong, that Thor was going to bust in and take him out, hitting him over and over with his hammer until Steve's face was unrecognizable. 

But then Tony kissed him back, just as fervently, grabbing Steve's face and thrusting his hips up into Steve's and moaning long and low.

It was all over then. They couldn't have turned back if they wanted to. 

Steve grasped Tony's right leg, pulling it up to better fit his body against his own and slotted his left in between Tony's thighs. Slowly, he rubbed upwards, eliciting a throaty moan from the mobster. 

"Fuck." Tony gasped, and boy did he have a dirty mouth. But Steve was loving it, ready to draw more of those curses and those sounds from him. Tony rocked his hips against Steve's thigh, clinging to his shoulders and tilting his neck for Steve, who took the opportunity to suck down the outstretched skin and back up, picking a spot behind his right ear to lavish attention on. 

Tony's left leg buckled, Steve had found one of his weak spots. "Oh, fucking hell!" Steve pulled back to fumble with the buttons on his waist cost, popping a few off in his hast, ignoring the whine his stopping drew from the Don. 

"That's Brioni!" Tony groaned, as the buttons hit the floor. 

"I don't know what that is," Steve said, aiming his tongue for that spot behind Tony's ear again.

"It's, oh fuck, it's Italian. Expensive. Shit, right there!"

Steve didn't care. He ripped Tony's shirt from the waistband to his--he was sure equally expensive--trousers and pulled down his suspenders. "Too many layers!" He complained. Tony laughed and took over, expertly unbuttoning his bottoms and shirt and letting everything fall to a pile on the floor. He stood in front of Steve, in nothing but a peach colored pair of boxers, something Steve had heard of, but didn't know of any men who wore them. 

He made quick work of his own clothes, the worn and home stitched trousers, his father's old dress shirt, and the heavily mended shoes, discarding everything until he was left in his union suit. 

Tony didn't seem to care about the state of his clothing though. He pulled Steve close to him again, falling back against the wall, and attacked his lips. 

Steve let his hands trail down Tony's back, admiring the smooth and toned skin. His abdomen was rock solid, despite his lean frame, and the suit did a good job of hiding his sculpted arms. He ran his hands over Tony's bottom and lifted, bringing the mob boss up and wrapping his legs around his waist. They only ceased kissing for a moment, to readjust themselves, and Steve was stepping back, towards the lounger.

He turned, dropping Tony to the chair with a grunt and laying on top of him. Tony's legs spread, letting Steve fit in between them, and he lifted his hips, grinding upwards. It was delicious friction, and they moaned, each lost in the haze of their cocks rutting together. 

Dropping kisses down Tony's bare chest, Steve tugged at the waist band of the boxers, and Tony lifted his hips. Smoothly, Steve removed them, laying a final kiss to the skin next to his belly button, and sat up to undo the buttons on his union suit, sliding it off and standing to kick out of it. 

Tony lay on his back, legs spread and bent at the knees, his eyes--still bright--half lidded, and his mouth swollen with the kisses. "In my bag in the corner, I gots Vaseline."

Steve nodded and retrieved it, trying not to think too hard about the two guns and knife that were also in there. It didn't matter. This was a one time thing. He had the money and by that time the next week, he'd be on a train to Arizona with his mother, leaving this whole sordid affair behind him.

The thought of never seeing Tony again sent a pang of something through his heart. He couldn't be falling for him! He barely knew him! And anyway, two men couldn't be in a relationship together, it just ain't right.

But that didn't mean what they were going to do couldn't be special. It didn't mean he couldn't make it so good that the memory would keep him warm, even in the dry heat of the deep South. 

Kneeling between Tony's legs, he gently pushed them up, something unspoken between them letting him know it was okay that he topped, that Tony wanted it like this. 

Tony opened himself up, exposing his hole, allowing what was basically a perfect stranger to see the most intimate part of him. It made Steve's heart surge. The vulnerability from one of the most feared--and apparently loved and respected--mafia bosses, the trust...it was breathtaking. 

He took his time. Slipping one finger inside and gently working the muscles. Tony tensed at first, sending out a slew of curses that made Steve freeze.

"I'm hurting you."

"Don't you stop, don't ya dare fucking stop!" Tony demanded, hooking his hands under his knees to open himself up further. 

Steve couldn't say no. He pushed a second finger in, spreading them, feeling along the velvety walls inside of Tony; he was so tight. His other hand went to Tony's dick, a first for him as he pulled it slowly. Through it all, the hardness hadn't waned. Tony wanted this. He wanted this badly.

"Have you ever...?"

Tony moaned, "No. Never wanted to risk it. You?"

"No." Steve said softly, his fingers still moving, he bent the digit upwards, trying to stretch him quicker. Out of nowhere, Tony keened.

"Oh, sweet mother Mary! Fuck yes!" Steve stilled himself, worried he had done something wrong. "Do it again! Whatever the fuck that was, do it again!"

So he did. He crooked his finger and pressed it against that same spot, eyes widening in lust as Tony's head thrashed from side to side, his hips beginning to undulate. "Oh, fuck, that feels so fucking good. Oh, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Just fuck me already!"

He didn't have to say it twice. Steve removed his fingers and used the Vaseline again to lube up his dick. Bracing himself with one hand on the lounger by Tony's head, and using the other to line his cock up, he leaned down, and kissed Tony breathless. "Ya ready, sweetheart?"

Tony turned his head to kiss Steve's wrist, such a sweet, saccharine action from a man known to take what he wanted without warning. "Yes."

Maybe he _was_ falling in love with him. And maybe Tony was too.

With the _Mafioso's_ legs wrapped around his waist, he pushed in, mindful of the gasps below him. He kept it slow, giving Tony a chance to adjust to him inch by inch. 

They held still when Steve was buried to his hilt, his forehead resting against Tony's, their eyes locking. Gently, he kissed him to say thank you. To convey every emotion he was currently feeling. The heat around him was immeasurable. It was hard to stay still, to give Tony the time needed to unclench himself. 

The half-Sicilian's eyes fluttered closed and his hands ran up Steve's back and into his hair, the kiss he gave him seemed to pour his own emotions out. Steve could read them out loud and clear.

_Maybe in a different life._

Once he felt relaxed, Tony gave an experimental rock of his hips, a gasp left silent on his lips at the pleasure. Steve groaned, dropping his head as the tightness of the muscles contracted around him. 

" _Please_."

It was the sincerity of the word that sent a bolt through him: Tony Stark asking, politely, to be fucked. 

Steve crashed their lips together and pulled out, enjoying the shiver he felt run through Tony's body. When he pushed back in, it was like the whole world opened up. Like he all of a sudden had the answers to everything. 

Tony's legs clamped around him, his hands went to his back, nails digging in, and he moaned. "Fuck me!"

So Steve did. He thrust, hard and fast into the compliant man below him, taking his pleasure as much as he was giving it. Tony's body rocked, his back arching, and his head twisting and turning in absolute bliss. He had never felt like this: So undone, so worshipped. 

His hands flew up to the back of the lounger, clinging to it as he growled his moans, his voice in the beginnings of going hoarse, the intensity overwhelming. Between them, Tony's dick was bouncing, sending smears of precome tapping along his lower stomach. Steve's chest heaved with the exertion, the burn in his lungs brilliant and satisfying.

They kissed again, Steve's tongue slipping inside to taste, to memorize every part of the willing mouth so he could remember it for the rest of his life. 

And Tony drank him in like a parched man chugging water after days without, reeling in the feeling of Steve: his tongue, his lips, his cock thrusting in and out of him, pressing against that spot within him that forced stars to shoot across his vision

He knew, after this, that he was ruined for anyone else. No one could come close. No one could ever make him feel like he was at that moment. 

Steve's hand wrapped around him, jerking his dick, pulling guttural moans and heavy breaths as his fingers dug into the skin of the taller man's back. Drawing him in, marking him as belonging to Tony. Marks that Steve would look at in the mirror in the days to come and grow instantly hard from.

He was close. His climax bubbling just under the surface, Steve knew it. Could tell from the way Tony was breathing, the tightness he felt on him when his hand on Tony's cock brushed the body underneath. 

But Steve couldn't hold on. It was too perfect, too all encompassing, and he came, shooting himself inside of Tony, his hips seizing and jolting with the power of his orgasm, but that was what Tony needed.

He needed to feel Steve come, needed to feel the ropes of seed spewing inside him, to feel himself filled up. Steve's hand barely faltered, the precome making the cock slick and wet, and Tony's back arched high off the lounger as he felt himself tumble over the edge, coming and coming, spurts of it almost exploding from his dick and splattering on his chest, his face, all over Steve's hand. He screamed his release, unable to hold back as the waves of pleasure crashed through him. 

Steve still pumped in and out until he grew soft, riding the last of the orgasm to the very end, his palm and fingers continuing to stroke Tony until the smaller man was whining and shaking and twitching with overstimulation. Only then did he stop, gently removing himself from Tony and laying on top of him, kissing all over his face, his neck, basking in the glow of what they had just done. 

But like anything clandestine, it had to come to an end and he stood, helping Tony to his feet and wiping him with his own ruined waistcoat. Tony laughed, a pure sound, and kissed him again.

They handed each other their clothes, dressing silently, before pressing themselves together once again to kiss, a final moment, they thought, to drink each other in. Steve held him, running his fingers through the brown hair, and peppering kisses down his neck, soft and chaste. 

A booming knock at the door had them both jumping, some minutes later. "Boss!"

"It's Brucie," Tony explained while opening the door. 

"Boss, we're being raided! We gotta go!"

"Fuck!" It was too sudden, the separation too final. There was no chance at a proper goodbye. Tony stuffed his bag with bundles of money, shoving as many as he could into the folds, and taking three and handing them to Steve.

"One day," he said quickly, standing and racing to the door, "one day ya use that money, and you come back to me."

Steve nodded, pushing the bills into his pockets. It was thousands of dollars, more than enough to live comfortably for the rest of his life if he wanted. 

Turning, Tony grabbed him and kissed him one last time, before he was gone, following his men up through a hidden exit. He looked back once, catching sight of Steve slipping through an open window to safety, and knowing he'd never see him again.

Until one day, he did. 

End. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Please, if you liked this, let me know in the comments.
> 
> It's open ended because I do have ideas for a chaptered expansion of this, but only if it's well received. I have so many WIPs, I need to pick and choose my battles, you know? 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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